Say, ‘F--- A Duck,’ and I’ll let you back up on the dock.

Say, ‘F--- A Duck!’

Although up to his shoulders in icy ocean water, Dave would not say the words.

Everyone liked Dave. He was a year older than me and just a good guy, thoughtful and kind. At sixteen, he was tall and athletic, street smart and cool. He was cursed in high-school with bad skin, but we all suffered the indignity of blemishes.

Dave was surely freezing to death and Tom wouldn’t let him back up on the dock. Tom was forcing him to stay in an ocean that given more minutes could kill him.